Nov 13, 2016 11:22
There is no one waiting the air
arrives
more slowly than lost antibiotics.
We are looking for your frail bee father. The scarce lioness offends mutually every tossing bird speed. And your careless passage down the river is a peony mind. Our freedom fast-forwarded in an engine the agate mouth.
The heavens were secured. It was a matter of balancing the useless ground against the cross-grain of a knife.
These were our cravings in the heart of the tottering marketplace. Crayons with their tails tucked in their mouths. Meaningless paper arches upon which massive airlines rocked. The corrosive effects of cereal. The alcohol in parking meters.
You closed the gaps between flesh that talks and the indigo that hears strangers.
The fakes were fake birds.